More Rhubarb Madness

This year, Mothers Day was an all-day affair, with me cooking both brunch and dinner (there was a break for all concerned in between), and both meals ended in dessert.  Breakfast was followed by green tea ice cream; dinner by buttermilk panna cotta with a rhubarb compote.

I don’t know why I don’t make panna cotta more frequently—it’s the perfect dessert.  It’s a cinch to put together, is made well in advance, and it suits anything from a meal of soup and bread to a multi-course dinner party.   We’ll get the to panna cotta in a moment, but I want to begin with the compote.

When I decided on the compote I wasn’t sure how to do it; rhubarb is so fibrous that it breaks down fairly quickly and I wanted it to remain in definable pieces.  I decided to combine diced rhubarb with hot sugar syrup and allow it to macerate for a couple of days in the refrigerator. 

I wasn’t sure the rhubarb would be softened enough to make for pleasant eating,  but I was quite sure, if nothing else, the syrup would be intensely-flavored by then.  I was right; but the rhubarb was still crunchy. 

It was easily fixed—I poured the syrup (which was now thinner from the addition of the rhubarb’s juices) into a saucepan, boiled it for a couple minutes until it was thickened up, added the rhubarb and stirred it over the heat for 2 or 3 minutes, just enough for it to soften but still keep its shape.  

I would do it again precisely this way, since I think the syrup would not have been so flavorful had I simply cooked it all together to begin with.  The leftover syrup, by the way, is excellent mixed with sparkling water over ice as a mock-cocktail.

Buttermilk Panna Cotta with Rhubarb Compote

To make the rhubarb compote—
1 cup sugar
1 cup water
1 1-inch piece of ginger, peeled and sliced in half
1 large or 2 medium stalks rhubarb, about 2 cups once diced
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Combine the water, sugar, and ginger in a small saucepan and bring to a boil, swirling the pan to dissolve the sugar; lower the heat and allow to simmer while you prepare the rhubarb.

Slice the rhubarb stalk into 1/4-inch strips and cut across into 1/4-inch dice. Place in a covered container and top with the hot syrup and vanilla. Cool, then cover and refrigerate. Let stand for a couple of days before using, up to a week.

To make the panna cotta—
2 tablespoons water
2 teaspoons unflavored gelatin
1 cup cream
1/2 cup sugar
2 cups buttermilk (give it a good shake before measuring)
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Mix the water and gelatin in a small bowl and set aside.

Heat the cream and sugar in a saucepan over medium heat, until it is just below the boil. Remove from heat and add the gelatin mixture, stirring until dissolved. Allow to cool to tepid; stir in buttermilk and vanilla.

Spray six (1/2-cup capacity minimum) ramekins or custard cups with vegetable oil spray, or grease lightly with a neutral oil such as almond or grapeseed. Divide the custard among them, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, or up to 2 days.

To serve—
Strain the rhubarb from the syrup (discard the ginger chunks), place it in a saucepan and bring to a boil. Cook until it becomes thick and syrupy; add the rhubarb, cook until it is not quite tender and set aside to cool slightly.

The panna cotta can be served from the dishes or un-molded. If you are serving them as is simply place the dishes on a plate, top with some of the compote, and serve.

If you wish to un-mold them, run a thin knife around the edge to loosen the panna cotta.  Invert it over a plate; turning the mold on an angle sometimes aids its removal. If they do not  come out easily, you can place the dishes on a towel that has been rinsed with hot water and wrung out; less than a minute should be enough.

Once they are on the plates, spoon some of the compote all around the panna cotta and serve straight away.

The recipe makes 6 generous 1/2-cup servings, and can be made in 8 dishes if you prefer smaller servings.

 

Rhubarb Madness

With the amount of rhubarb found in my market recently, this past week I have been using it every other day, making a variety of sweet offerings. The one I offer up today is quick to put together, nice enough for guests but frugal enough for daily consumption, and reasonably health conscious.

Rhubarb muffins are good for breakfast, or tea, or snack time, or for lunch, or after dinner . . . And they are no more complicated to make than any quick bread is, although it takes a few minutes to cut up the rhubarb.

I started with a basic muffin recipe and worked from there. Feel free to adapt it as well, adding some spices if you prefer (ginger, mace, etc.), using a different nut, and playing around with the combination of flours.

I did that myself, using ground rolled oats and ground flax seed in place of a portion of the flour. The oats were an easy swap, but due to the difference in moisture content, I used flax seed as an addition to the flours rather than a substitute, and I reduced the oil in the recipe slightly since it is fattier than flour.

If you prefer to keep this straight forward, using just all purpose flour (or even some oat flour which has about the same moisture content), use 3 cups of flour total and increase the oil to 2/3 cup.  The recipe makes about 2 dozen muffins (it is easily halved, if you prefer) if you use a standard muffin tin, but I made some in mini pie plates which gave me a half dozen jumbo muffin tops and a dozen muffins.

Rhubarb Pecan Muffins

Butter, vegetable oil spray, or shortening for greasing the pans
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup oat flour (made from 1 1/4 cups rolled oats ground in a blender)
3/4 cup ground flax seed
1 1/4 cups brown sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
Rhubarb, about 4 to 5 medium stalks, diced into 1/4 to 1/2-inch pieces to equal 3 cups
1 cup chopped pecans
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 egg
1 cup buttermilk (or milk with a tablespoon lemon juice added)
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 teaspoon grated orange rind

Optional topping
1 stalk rhubarb, sliced 1/8-inch thick
Brown sugar

Heat the oven to 325 degrees. Grease muffins tins well.

Combine the dry ingredients in a large bowl, whisking to mix well. Add the rhubarb and nuts and toss to combine and distribute them throughout. Beat the eggs with the buttermilk, oil, vanilla and orange rind; stir into the dry ingredients until just combined.

Use a 1/3 cup measure to fill the tins if you are using a standard-sized pan. If you like, top each muffin with a few of the optional rhubarb slices and a big pinch of brown sugar. Place in the oven and bake for approximately 30 minutes, until golden brown, and a tester inserted in the middle comes out clean.

Cool for 10 minutes before removing from the pans.  The muffins will keep for several days, but the rhubarb flavor is most evident when they are served warm, so warm up the leftovers.

Note:  If you are using all regular flour, the mixture will be lighter and may need about 5 minutes or so less baking time.

Sweet, Salty, & Chocolatey

I was reading an online review of the Brooklyn eatery, Marlowe & Sons, and the diner waxed poetic (to say the very least) about their signature dessert—Salted Caramel Tart.  I love the concept of desserts with salty elements since I am one of those people who often takes a bite of dessert and says “Oh God, this is sweet.”

Based on my locale, a suburb well-outside Oakland and San Francisco, bakeries with a modern aesthetic are not nearly close enough for me to get to them regularly; if I want a grown-up dessert I pretty much have to make it myself.

I started looking around online and found several sites purporting to have the recipe for Marlowe & Sons’  much-loved tart.  They all contained the same four elements—chocolate crust, layer of caramel, layer of ganache, and a dusting of flaky salt—but the procedure and proportions varied widely. 

I decided on the recipe that sounded as if someone who knew what they were talking about had written it since very often I do not know what I am talking about.  I made it with one slight alteration, although I’m not sure you can call it that—the recipe called for using a 12-inch removable bottom tart pan and the only tart pan I own is 9-inches.

Rather than mess with the quantities, I simply held back about 1/2 cup of the finished caramel and saved it for another use, and used the extra bits of pastry to make myself a cookie to dip in the excess ganache.  So basically, the recipe that follows makes a 12-inch tart, or a 9- to 10-inch tart with the bonus of caramel to drizzle over ice cream (you’ll have to re-warm it to make it pourable), a cookie, and plenty of ganache left sticking to the bowl to lick off while the tart is chilling. (Keep a mirror in your kitchen and if the doorbell rings, you can check the tip of your nose for any chocolate before you see who it is.)

Making caramel scares some people, but I have no training, little patience, and am known for doing things backwards, and mine turned out just fine.  As for the crust, it is rather crumbly and hard to roll out; rolling it between sheets of wax paper helps.  But you can also freeze the dough, then grate it into the pan on a box grater and simply press the little strands of dough into place.

You could also make a cookie crust using chocolate graham crackers or any other simple chocolate wafer cookie (if anyone makes this recipe using Oreos do not leave a comment telling me you did so—Oreos have their place but this is not it). 

The salt is essential, and any flaky salt that is not iodized is acceptable, although I’m sure those who buy a variety of salts for various uses will have a favorite one in mind.

Salted Caramel Tart

The Crust
1 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa, Dutch-processed or not
1/2 cup confectioner’s sugar
Pinch of salt
1 stick (4 oz.) unsalted butter, cold and cut into pieces
1 egg yolk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 tablespoon ice water

Alternate Cookie Crust
Finely-ground chocolate graham crackers or wafer cookies, to make 1 cup crumbs
1/4 cup sugar
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

The Caramel
1/2 cup water
2 cups sugar
1/4 cup light corn syrup, honey, golden syrup or treacle
1/2 cup heavy cream
1 stick (4 oz.) unsalted butter, cut in pieces
2 Tbsp. crème fraîche or sour cream

Ganache
1/2 cup heavy cream
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, broken into pieces

For the pastry crust— Combine the dry ingredients in a food processor and pulse a few times to mix. Add the butter and pulse the machine on and off until it looks somewhat sandy. Beat together the egg yolk, vanilla and water and add to the dry ingredients; pulse until it starts to form some clumps, but not until it comes together entirely.

Dump onto a work surface and lightly bring it together. Form into a flat disc, wrap well in plastic wrap and chill for at least an hour (or up to 2 days). Spray a removable-bottom tart part with vegetable oil spray or brush lightly with melted butter and set aside in the refrigerator.

Either roll out the dough, between sheets of waxed paper, and fit it into the pan, or press it into the pan as mentioned above. Either way, unless you are using a 12-inch tart pan, you will have a small amount of dough left-over. Chill for 30 minutes. Heat oven to 350 degrees and bake tart shell until it is dry looking and the edge is pulling away slightly from the pan, 15 to 20 minutes. Cool completely.

For a crumb crust— Heat oven to 350 degrees. Combine the ingredients and press into the tart pan in an even layer. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes; the crust will will have some resistance when you lightly press on it. Cool completely.

For the caramel— Have the cream, butter and sour cream at the ready. Combine the water, sugar, and syrup in a deep saucepan (not one that has a dark bottom as it is too hard to tell when the mixture is taking on color) and place over high heat; swirl the pan to combine the ingredients for a minute or so.

The caramel- just beginning to thicken

Cover and wait until you can see steam escaping from under the lid; now cook uncovered and pay attention to the bubbles on the surface—as the sugar cooks the bubbles will get progressively larger and then you will see the caramel begin to thicken; this is when you should start paying attention to the color. You want it to be a deep amber verging on dark brown; tilt the pan every few seconds when you think you are getting there to get a better idea of the color.

The caramel- bubbles thicker, color just about there

When it has reached the right color, remove from the heat and add the cream; it will bubble up and look like a nasty mess, just place it back on the heat (you can lower it a bit at this point) and stir until it is smooth. Add the butter, a few pieces at a time, stirring until it has combined with the caramel, then stir in the sour cream. Pour into the pastry shell to make a layer about 3/8-inch thick, tilting the shell back and forth if necessary to distribute the caramel. Chill for about 2 hours, until firmly set.

For the ganache— In a saucepan (or in a glass bowl in the microwave) heat the cream until it is very hot but not boiling; add the chocolate pieces, let stand for a minute, then stir until it is smooth. Pour over the caramel layer, again tilting the pan if neccesary to spread it around. Chill unti it is set up, then cover with plastic wrap and chill until serving time, at least 2 hours.

A slice I am eating right this minute

Let the tart stand at room temperture for 30 minutes prior to serving and dust the surface with your chosen salt before taking it to the table. I think it’s best to go light on the salt and bring a dish of it to the table for each diner to add more if they like.

Serves 12

Notes: 

The first time I served this tart I used French salt that was mostly fairly-thin flakes; I liked the crunch of the flakes with the smoothness of the fillings and it tasted just salty enough.  The second time, I used plain, everyday Kosher salt which had a good flavor but lacked the textural interest.

The photo of the sliced tart was taken 48 hours after it was made; having been chilled and brought to room temperature twice, the ganache lost some of its sheen, hence the dusting of cocoa powder not mentioned in the recipe.  It still tastes quite good, in fact, I think the crust tastes better.  

Cleaning the caramel pan (and the spoon) is as simple as filling it with boiling water and a little dish soap and letting it stand for a few minutes.

 

A Picnic with Fred, Julia, and Eli

Rogers, Child and Zabar, respectively.

As I always do, I am taking my own lunch while attending the San Francisco Garden Show this year, and was trying to think of something different.  I decided on two salads, cheese, fruit, and some whole-grain crackers.  I’ll most likely bring a few cookies and piece of chocolate as well.

Since the lunch is not just for me but two others, and since I am going to be carrying it around until we consume it, I always try to make things that do not take up too much room—the reason I chose crackers over a loaf of  bread.  Everything I am taking can be packed into sealed plastic containers that will nest together once empty and take up less room after lunch.

Orzo is one of the few pastas I like as a salad.  Cooking pasta just right when you are going to refrigerate it to serve cold is tricky; it usually ends up to bite-y or too gummy, but somehow orzo seems to be more forgiving.   I cooked some up, tossed it with olive oil, lemon rind, chopped parsley and then considered what I might add to make it more substantial.  

I thought of something I hadn’t in years—Julia Child making Spaghetti Marco Polo with Mr. Rogers.  It was so-named because of the common belief that Marco Polo brought pasta to Italy from China (not entirely the case, but that would require a long digression), and contained olives, nuts, and lots of vegetables and herbs as I recall.

Fred Rogers

I could have looked it up since I am pretty sure it is in Julia’s book The Way To Cook, but I decided to improvise instead.  I added a dice of roasted red and yellow peppers, Kalamata olives, and 1-inch pieces of asparagus that I blanched in the pasta water for just a minute or two. 

Julia Child

 Once that was done, I moved on to a chicken salad which took me from Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood to the Upper-West Side.  Zabar’s, Eli Zabar specifically, makes a simply excellent chicken salad; it looks pretty much standard—chicken, mayonnaise, a fine dice of celery, but then you take a bite and are rewarded with the addition of tarragon.  And just the right amount too; too much tarragon and whatever it is in tastes of nothing else.  Tricky tarragon.

If you happen to be in New York sometime, maybe after a visit to the Museum of Natural History, go to Zabar’s (Broadway at 80th Street) and pick up the supplies for a picnic, then take to the subway downtown to 59th Street and eat at the fountain in Columbus Circle.  (I believe there is a picture on this blog of a half-eaten bagel and that would be the locale.)

Eli Zabar

Since I cannot do that myself right now I made my own version of Eli’s salad,  but instead of adding taragon to acheive that subtle anise flavor, I finely sliced a head of fennel and combined that with the chicken, dressing it lightly with a combination of mayonnasie and yogurt, and a bit white pepper for punch. 

That reminds me, if you are making salads ahead of time, slightly over-dress and over-salt them as both tend to absorb (the exception is tuna salad which will become tuna soup if over-dressed (I learned that in a school cafeteria, so my education was not entirely wasted)).

To complete the main meal, I am serving herbed goat cheese, which involves nothing more than combining fresh goat cheese with finely chopped mint, chives and parsley, and a drizzle of olive oil.  

Some segments of various citrus, grapes, and the previously-mentioned chocolate will end the nourishing meal, and then, undoubtedly,  I will skip the Orchid Pavilion (which makes my throat all itchy) in favor of the area where foolish people are parted from their money.  (Two years in a row I bought old scuzzy-looking stools to use as tables; who knows what I’ll come home with this year.)

Edited to say: I came home with a winged pig made from recycled materials. 

Soda Bread

Just prior St. Patrick’s Day, Martha and I were talking about soda bread, something I think is an absolute must for any proper Irish meal.  She mentioned how many of them are on the dry side and I said I was pretty sure those may be the breads closest to the original—I have had various soda breads made by Irish cooks, and they ranged from moist breads studded with raisins, currants and lemon rind, to plain white loaves that greatly benefited from a cloak of butter.

Afterwards, wanting to find out if I was correct in my assumption, I started reading up on soda bread.  Everything I read backed me up and provided me a few things I did not know.  For one thing, Ireland’s climate is not condusive to growing hard wheat and the soft wheat available was better suited to quick breads which did not require kneading and the developing of gluten.

Unable to make a yeast bread, soda bread which required nothing more than flour, salt, soda, and buttermilk became the daily bread.  It was quick to put together, could be baked either free-form or in a pan, and was very economical. In addition, a very plain bread such as this can be served all day long, from breakfast to dinner, and sweetened up at tea time with honey or jam.   

Certainly there were variations, some using whole wheat flour, or treacle or raisins added for special occasions, but the basic recipe remained pretty much the same.  Irish immigrants to this country, having improved their situation, added eggs and butter to the bread, the raisins became a more common addition, and more often than not, it contained at least some sugar.

My version has considerably more ingredients than the classic, but I believe I have shown enough restraint that it will still be home alongside most any meal; it’s sweet enough to enjoy with coffee, tea, or even cocoa, but not so sweet that it would be out of place with a soup or stew meal.

This is more of a batter than a dough so it is baked in a pan, but by simply reducing the buttermilk by a half cup, the dough can be kneaded into a flat round and baked on a sheet or baking stone.  Since I am trying to work more fiber into my diet whenever possible, I included a portion whole wheat flour; you can use all white flour if you like a lighter loaf, but don’t skip the oats—they add a nice nuttiness. 

I used a combination of yogurt and buttermilk, but either could be used singly, although you’d want to thin the yogurt a bit with some milk.  And finally, the recipes calls for treacle, something that can be replaced with either molasses or honey (or a combination of the two for a milder flavor) if you don’t have treacle in your pantry. 

Soda Bread

1 3/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
3/4 whole wheat flour
1/2  cup oat bran, or either old fashioned oats or Scottish pin-head oats, ground in a food processor to the texture of coarse cornmeal
2 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup treacle
2 tablespoons sugar
1 egg
3/4 cup yogurt, either whole or low-fat
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter, melted (divided use)
1 cup well-shaken buttermilk, approximately
Butter for greasing the pan, optional

Heat oven to 350 degrees.  You can use either a well-seasoned 10-inch cast iron skillet or a cake pan (a spring-form would do nicely); if you are using the cake pan, butter it lightly, line the bottom with a piece of parchment or foil and set aside.

Combine the dry ingredients in a medium bowl and whisk to blend together. In a separate, smaller bowl, beat the egg with the treacle, sugar, yogurt, and three tablespoons of the butter. Stir into the dry ingredients, and begin to add the buttermilk, adding enough to make a mixture that is fairly thick but pourable.

Pour into the pan and give it a few raps on the counter to settle it in. Drag a knife through the center in each direction to form a cross; being a batter rather than dough, the cross will not be perfectly even. Drizzle the remaining tablespoon butter over the top, and sprinkle with a few tablespoons of oats if you like. Place in the center of the oven and bake for 40 minutes or until a tester inserted in the center comes out clean.

Cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then invert onto a rack and cool for at least 40 minutes before serving.

I like to cut the bread into four wedges (farls) along the cross, then into slices rather than wedges. When it is still slightly warm, it needs no butter, but some jam or honey is a nice addition.

Asparagus & Leek Salad

This salad falls into a category of dishes many people rarely think to make, a vegetable or two cooked quickly and dressed simply; there are no herbs added to the dressing, no nuts, cheese, or other embellishments garnishing the dish—it is what it is.   

This weekend, seeing the first asparagus of the season and thin pale leeks at the farmers market reminded me, yet again, how good a meal can be made with just a few ingredients .

I’m suggesting the lemon dressing used on my Caesar Salad, but any vinaigrette you like can be used, as well just as a drizzle of olive oil and Balsamic vinegar.

Asparagus and Leek Salad

1 pound asparagus, tough ends trimmed, lower two-thirds of stalks peeled
Salt
1 leek, trimmed of darkest green leaves and any outer layers that are blemished or fibrous, root left intact
1/4 cup lemon dressing (see category index for salads)

Bring a pot of water to a boil. Meanwhile, wash and trim asparagus as described above.

Place the leak on a cutting board and carefully make thin slices down the length of the leek. You will end up with 3 to 5 flat slices of leek, depending on how large the leek is. Now, make a series of narrow cuts down each leek slice to create matchsticks attached to the root; trim off root.  You should have a pile of thin leek ribbons; if you do not, I appologize for not explaining the technique well enough.

Salt the water and add the asparagus; cook until it is tender but still has some bite. Remove with a slotted scoop, draining well, and place on a serving dish. Add leeks to boiling water and cook for about 1 minutes, until wilted; remove, drain, and combine with asparagus.

Let the asparagus cool to warm and toss with the dressing. Let stand at room temperature until serving. .

Serves 4 as a side dish, starter, or salad course

Short and Stout

The title would make a great deal more sense if this recipe were for short ribs, which in fact you could use, but I used top round.  While French and Italian—and in the case of Sauerbrauten, German—cooks braise tough cuts of meat in wine to tenderize them and enhance their naturally big flavors, in Ireland and Belgium, beer is more often the cooking liquid of choice.

There are not that many ingredients in this stew, and none of them are exotic, so this is a very approachable dish for a cook of any skill level.  The only trick, if you can call it that, is simply to make sure you brown the meat well since the caramelized juices contribute so much to the dish.

The stew starts with bacon, which adds some depth and a bit of smoky sweetness, but the dish can be made without it and not be lacking. On the other hand, do not omit the carrots even if you prefer not to eat them; their natural sweetness tempers the bitter nature of the beer.

Two last words on ingredients: I used top round simply because it was the best looking piece of meat available in the quantity I wanted, but bottom round and chuck (which are often cheaper) are in fact the better cuts for this stew; they have a bit more fat and connective tissue which keep them moist and add body to the gravy.  If you are using either of those, the gravy might not require as much flour to thicken it, so either reduce the quantity by a tablespoon or so, or thin the finished gravy with  additional broth if required.

I have included an alternate preparation for anyone who would like to make this in a slow cooker—just don’t skip browning the meat or the flour or you’ll have a very different stew. 

Depending on my mood, I serve the stew in bowls over wide noodles tossed with butter, or aside mashed potatoes or Colcannon.  If you go for the latter, add some soda bread and a pot of tea.  Like most stews, this one can be a made a couple days ahead and reheated before serving.

Beef and Stout Stew
Vegetable oil, as needed
1/3 cup flour
4 slices bacon, preferably a naturally-smoked type, chopped into 1/4-inch pieces (more or less)
3 pounds boneless beef—top or bottom round, or chuck, trimmed of excess fat and cut into 1 1/2-inch cubes
Salt and freshly-ground pepper
3 large onions (about 2 pounds), cut in half and sliced into 1/4-inch slices
1 teaspoon sugar
2 cups oatmeal stout, or another very dark beer
1 cup chicken or beef broth
1 teaspoon dried thyme leaves
2 bay leaves
1/2 teaspoon crushed rosemary leaves, or 1 small sprig fresh
4 large carrots, scrubbed and cut into 2-inch pieces

Heat a large, deep saute pan or a dutch-oven over medium heat, add the flour and cook, stirring constantly, until is golden brown; remove and set aside in a small bowl. Add the bacon to the pan, stirring occasionally, until it is fairly crisp and the fat has been rendered out.  Scoop the bacon out and set aside on a plate.  Drain most of the fat from the pan, but do not wipe off the brown bits that have formed on the bottom.

Add the meat, in batches, to the pan, season with salt and pepper, and cook until it is well browned on all sides.  Remove to the plate with the bacon and continue with remaining meat, adding vegetable oil as needed.   Add the onions and sugar to the pan and cook until the onions are wilted and begin to take on some color, lowering the heat as necessary to be sure you do not burn the glaze forming on the bottom of the pan.
  
Heat oven to 350 degrees.

Pour the beer into the pan and scrape the bottom with a wooden spoon to remove the brown bits. Stir together the flour and broth until smooth; add to the pan along with all the reserved and remaining ingredients and bring to a boil while stirring it; cover the pot, place in the oven, and bake for about 1 1/2 hours, or until the meat is tender.  Check for seasoning, adding more salt and pepper as needed, and serve.

Serves six to eight

Slow Cooker Variation
Brown the flour, and cook the bacon and beef as described above. De-glaze pan with the beer, add the broth and flour mixture and bring to a boil. Combine in a slow cooker with the remaining and reserved ingredients.

Cook for approximately 4 hours on high, or 8 hours on low, or as suggested by a similar recipe provided by the manufacturer of your particular slow cooker.

 

The Upside

Here in California we are experiencing a late-winter full of contradiction.  One day may be seventy degrees and sunny with people calling in sick so they can go to the beach, and the next it may be pouring buckets and chilly enough that you are digging in drawers for the long underwear.

As confusing as it is to us, it is more so to the things that grow in dirt—my coral bells are forming flower stocks, the pots of thyme and sage are beginning to show signs of life, and I found rhubarb in the market.  I have no idea what this means for the spring crop of rhubarb—will it just keep producing, or does this mean by Easter it will be gone?—so I figured, even at four dollars a pound, I better make use of some now.

I chose this recipe because it requires just a pound of rhubarb (which is economical) and also  thinking that for those new to rhubarb, a recipe that features it as a flavoring rather than the bulk of the dish might be a good way to try it out.

This recipe appeared in Gourmet magazine, a trusted source for me, and I have changed very little.  The original cake was flavored with ground anise seed which I replaced with cardamom, knowing that anise is not universally loved.   Aside from that, my only change was the vessel in which I baked it.  It was meant to be made in a 10-inch cast iron skillet, a pan I do not happen to own.

I use a 10-inch non-stick skillet with sloping edges which works admirably; you could also use a cake pan if you simply do not have a skillet that fits the bill.  Pre-heat the oven,  place the cake pan with the butter in it into the oven, melt it, add the sugar and proceed as directed.  As added insurance if you are doing it this way, I suggest you butter the sides of the pan, once it is cool, before you add the cake batter.

Rhubarb Upside-Down Cake

The Topping
1/2 stick (4 tablespoons) unsalted butter
Generous 3/4 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 to 1 1/4 pounds rhubarb, rinsed and trimmed of any leaves (poisonous) and wilted pieces

The Cake
1 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground cardamom or anise seed (you could also use ginger and nutmeg, either singly or in combination- go easy on the nutmeg as it can overwhelm)
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, at room temperature
2/3 cup sugar
2 large eggs
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup buttermilk or yogurt, given a good shake or stir
1/4 milk

In a 10-inch skillet, either well-seasoned cast iron or non-stick, melt the butter over medium heat on top of the stove.  When the foaming begins to subside, lower the heat and sprinkle the brown sugar as evenly as you can over the butter.  Allow it to stand undisturbed for 3 minutes; all the sugar will not melt.  Remove from heat and set aside while you cut the rhubarb into 1-inch pieces .  Place the rhubarb, rounded-side down, all over the bottom of the skillet, arranging in concentric circles, or however you like.

Heat the oven to 350 degrees.  Combine all the dry ingredients for the cake  in a medium bowl and whisk to combine.  Beat the butter and sugar with a mixer until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes.  Add the eggs one at a time, beating well and scraping the sides to be sure all is combined; add the vanilla.  On low speed, add the flour mixture and the milk and buttermilk, alternately, starting and ending with the dry ingredients.  It need only be mixed to combine; do not over-beat it.

The batter will be thick but do your best to pour it over the rhubarb, then spread it gently to cover.  You want to get it fairly even, but smoothing it is not neccesary, and you don’t want to move the rhubarb around.  Bake for approximately 45 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted is clean.  Check after 30 minutes and if the top is already golden brown, cover loosely with foil.

Remove the cake from the oven and cool on a rack for fifteen minutes.  Place a serving plate over the skillet and carefully (use a kitchen towel as it will still be hot) flip them both over.  Remove the pan and admire your handy work.  Cool until just warm before serving.  I think the texture of the cake is at its best the first day—springy and sponge-like—but it will keep under refrigeration for a few days.

Serves 8

Note: My cooling racks are stored in a cupboard that is not located in my kitchen, under a bunch of stuff I rarely use, so I usually grab a 28-ounce can of tomatoes from the pantry, place it on the counter, and stick the cake  pan right on top.  The air circulates around the pan and cools it just as well; just be sure you don’t bump it with your elbow while filling the tea kettle (no, that is not hypothetical).

Rhubarb AND Strawberries

Anyone who knows me well knows I don’t like strawberry rhubarb pie;  my appologies to cooks everywhere but I think cooked strawberries are one of the nastiest things ever—taste and texture are both ruined by cooking as far as I am concerned. 

But this pie, devised by Narsai David, food writer and the one-time owner of the café at Magnin’s in San Francisco,  is very different.  A fully-baked crust is filled with rhubarb that is cooked on the stove, chilled, and topped with cream and sliced berries. 

The contrast between the tart, soft rhubarb and the sweet, uncooked berries is wonderful, and the cream brings it all together.  This is also a good pie for those who are pie-shy since only the crust need be baked; in fact, I think  this pie would be just as good using a graham cracker or cookie crust (maybe gingersnaps) which is even easier.  

Narsai’s Summer Rhubarb Strawberry Pie

An 8- or 9-inch pie shell
1 pound rhubarb, washed and cut into 1-inch thick slices
½ cup sugar
Juice and grated rind of half a lemon
2 tablespoon cornstarch blended with 3 tablespoons water
Pinch of salt

1 cup whipping cream
2 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 pint strawberries, washed, hulled, and halved if the berries are small or sliced if they are large

Heat oven to 425 degrees. Bake pie shell for 10 minutes then lower heat to 375 degrees and continue to bake until golden and crisp; the pie is not baked once it is assembled so the crust needs to be fully cooked.

Place the rhubarb, sugar, salt and lemon into a skillet over medium-high heat, bring to a boil and begin to add some of the cornstarch slurry, starting with about half of it, stirring constantly.  Cook for about 5 minutes, until the rhubarb is tender.  

It will thicken up more while it chills, but if you feel it isn’t thick enough (about like a cooked pudding should be), add a bit more of the cornstarch and cook for another minute.   Pour into shell and refrigerate until completely chilled.

Whip the cream in a chilled bowl and until soft peaks form; beat in sugar and vanilla. Spread over the pie and garnish with the berries.

Serves 8

 

Corned Beef and Cabbage, Revamped

As with all my recipes, this one bears a disclaimer—the corned beef. It is getting harder and harder to find anything other than the corned beef packaged in shrink-rap emblazoned with an Irish name around St. Patrick’s Day.

If you have a butcher and can order a first cut corned beef, go for it—it will be leaner, larger, shrink less during cooking and feed more people. Four pounds of grocery store corned beef will serve four to six, while a first cut brisket will feed as many as eight. If you are making this recipe to serve eight and cannot find a first cut, I think it’s best to play it safe and buy two pieces of meat; you’ll end up with leftovers, but those can be used to make Reubens, and that’s actually favorite way to combine corned beef and cabbage.

As for the cabbage, I am not a fan of wedges cooked to watery imperfection as is generally the case; when I make corned beef and cabbage, the cabbage is shredded and sautéed, a technique that has been met by approval by my Irish relatives who say that is how the cabbage they grew up on was cooked.  So there.

For the braise

1 corned beef brisket, first cut if possible
2 medium onions cut in quarters
3 carrots, cut in 2-inch pieces
3 ribs celery, cut in 2-inch pieces
3 cloves garlic, cut in half
2 bay leaves
1 strip of rind from an orange, and the juice of the orange
8 whole cloves

Heat oven to 350 degrees. Rinse off the corned beef and pat dry. Place a portion of the vegetables and flavoring agents in a dutch oven (or other pan that can go from stove to oven), add the beef and top with the rest of the vegetables. Add cold water so that it does not quite come up the top of the beef and place on the stove; bring to a boil and transfer to the oven.

Cook with the lid slightly ajar, turning the meat over every thirty minutes, until it is very tender but not falling apart—a fork should easily pierce but not shred the meat when it is done—anywhere from 2 ½ to 3 hours. Reduce oven temperature to 225 degrees. Remove the meat to a platter, cover with foil and place in the oven, along with a serving bowl for the cabbage.

To finish the dish

8 small leeks (about the size of a carrot) or 16 small boiling onions
8 small carrots (about 6-inches long) scrubbed, or 6 regular carrots, scrubbed and cut diagonally in 2-inch lengths
3 parsnips, peeled and cut in 2-inch pieces
16 small new potatoes or 8 medium potatoes, scrubbed and trimmed
1 head cabbage, about 3 pounds, cored and coarsely shredded
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Salt and pepper to taste
Horseradish, Cumberland sauce, and mustard, for serving

If you are using the leeks, trim off all but about an inch or two of the dark green and wash the leeks in a bowl of water. If you are using the onions, peel them (blanching for a minute in boiling water makes this easier if they are stubborn).

Strain the meat cooking liquid and discard the vegetables. Return the broth to the pot and bring to a simmer. Place a large skillet over medium heat and add the butter; cook until it is foamy and add the cabbage. Sprinkle lightly with salt and stir to combine.

Meanwhile place the remaining vegetables in the broth and simmer covered over low heat until tender, about 20 minutes. Add a ½ cup or so of the broth to the cabbage and continue to cook until it is tender, but not mushy, adding salt and pepper as needed. Slice the meat and put back on the platter with the vegetables arranged around it; transfer the cabbage to the bowl and serve.

Serves 8

Cumberland Sauce

For those who like a sweet and slightly-spicy accompaniment to their corned beef.

1 cup red currant jelly
½ cup Port
The juice and grated rind of an orange
1 Tablespoon dry mustard
1 1-inch piece fresh ginger, grated
Salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste

Combine all the ingredients in a small saucepan and cook over medium heat until the jelly is melted and the ingredients are combined. Taste and adjust the seasonings. Pour into a bowl, cover and refrigerate until needed, at least 2 hours.

Makes 1 ½ cups sauce